


Better Than at the Other

by sinfuldesire_archivist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, First Time, Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-16
Updated: 2009-02-16
Packaged: 2018-09-08 06:22:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8833747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinfuldesire_archivist/pseuds/sinfuldesire_archivist
Summary: “Then do me instead,” Sam panted. His mind screamed at him not to hurt his brother even like this, but his body was screaming louder, so he shoved Sam onto his back and gave him what he wanted.  Angsty, porny coda to 'Heaven and Hell.'





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the Sinful Desire archivists: this story was originally archived at [Sinful-Desire.org](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Sinful_Desire). To preserve the archive, we began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2016. We e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact us using the e-mail address on [Sinful Desire collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/sinfuldesire/profile).

**Story Notes:**

The story was written in the hiatus following 'Heaven and Hell,' so it incorporates no information from later episodes. It isn't strong enough to warrant a 'BDSM' warning, but Dean does get pretty toppy.

 

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

 

“Anna didn’t deserve her grace back.” His brother’s voice was thick with tears and lust as Sam backed him toward the bed. “She should’ve turned herself in the minute they said they’d throw you back to hell.”

 

“She wouldn’t have let it go that far,” he answered, yielding to the gentle, inexorable pressure of Sam’s hands pushing him down.

 

“I think she would have.” Sam started at a spot just below his ear and traced hot, sucking kisses down his neck. “Castiel thought so too. I could see it in his eyes.”

 

“What?” He grasped Sam’s shoulder and pulled him away from licking at the hollow of his throat. “When?”

 

“It must have been the same time you saw Uriel. All he said was, ‘You know what you have to do, Sam,’ but he was disappointed when I said ‘no.’ I could see that too.” Sam unknotted the damp towel around his hips—all he was wearing when Sam waylaid him coming out of the shower—and slid his hand beneath it. He wasn’t hard, _shouldn’t_ be hard, but he was getting there fast.

 

“He left so quick that I almost thought he wasn’t supposed to be there. Crazy, huh?” Sam scrutinized his face for the minutest response as his hand played over his inner thighs. “But if he’d waited three more seconds I would have given her up. Three more seconds, Dean.”

 

“You wouldn’t have,” he replied, letting Sam nudge his thighs open in spite of himself. 

 

“I would have,” Sam insisted. “I should have. She was going to let you go to hell for her.”

 

He laughed bitterly. “Fuck, Sam. I didn’t deserve to go there, but I sure as hell deserve to go back.”

 

“No.” Desperation colored Sam’s tone. “ _He_ wouldn’t have left you there if you deserved it. If you hadn’t been forgiven.”

 

“Do you think _he_ cares about all those souls that I….” He cut off the words and the memories. “Do you think _he_ cares about any of us?”

 

“He has to. Christ, Dean, I’ll drown if I can’t believe he does.” 

 

Sam went back to tracing his clavicles with his tongue. He should be stopping his brother instead of encouraging him, he thought hazily, but he wasn’t made of stone. Sam was flushed and hard too, God alone knew why. Maybe one tainted soul calling out to another; Sam knew enough about that.

 

Maybe they all did. None of them were behaving like they should: a hunter turned torturer, a demon who let herself be tortured to protect a fallen angel, an angel who wanted to damn him and another who might have disobeyed orders to save him. Sam was the only one acting according to type because he was the only one of his kind in the world, and they didn’t know what he was.

 

“What are you thinking about?” Sam whispered after he licked his way over each rib. His fingers reached the crease where thigh meets body, just inches from where he needed them most.

 

‘ _Your mouth_ ,’ he should have said, or ‘ _your hands_ ,’ hell, even ‘ _Miss October_ ,’ but he was done lying to his brother. “I was thinking of Ruby—oh, fuck,” he choked as Sam’s fingertips brushed over his balls.

 

“Yeah, you like that?” Sam murmured. “You want more?”

 

A decade of ‘ _no more, no more_ ,’ ringing in his head, he nodded.

 

“Don’t think about Ruby.” Sam’s lips traveled down his stomach as his fingers stroked his balls again. “Me and you, it’s nothing like me and her.”

 

He tugged a fistful of Sam’s sweat-dampened hair to make him look up, even as his hips rocked upward. “Then what are we like?”

 

“We’re like us,” Sam said simply. 

 

Fingers and mouth closed over his cock, and he was lost. The hands were unskilled but careful, the mouth fumbling but so sweet, and Sam drank in his every moan, learned from the slightest shiver, and played it all back to him until he was thrashing on the bed and tearing at the sheets.

 

‘ _Don’t touch me, please don’t touch me_ ,’ the inner voices howled, but outside it was Sam, shucking off his clothes and begging, “Touch me, Dean, please touch me.” 

 

He was good at this— _better than at the other_ —and Sam was as into it as he was. Dirty moans vibrated around his cock— _moans, nothing like groans muffled by a gag_ —and drove him crazy for more— _not like in the Pit, he’d hated them in the Pit, but how long would that have lasted_? He let Sam do whatever he wanted, floating in the scorching pleasure, until the lubed fingertip stroking circles around his asshole tried to press inside. 

 

“Stop,” he gasped. Sam didn’t know what he was doing, this healed, branded body hadn’t done it that way yet, and he couldn’t stand another painful, violating intrusion into his self. Not now, maybe not ever.

 

“Then do me instead,” Sam panted between more hot licks and teasing strokes. “C’mon, do me.” 

 

His mind screamed at him not to hurt his brother even like this, but his burning body was screaming louder, so he shoved Sam onto his back and gave him what he wanted. Sam covered his face to hide the pain— _his arms weren’t tied down_ —stifling his soft gasps— _they always did at first_ —but demanded “Go on, go on,” when he hesitated, and _they never did that_. And they never looked at him with the awed surprise in Sam’s expression when he lowered his hands.

 

“What?” he asked, driving in at just the right angle.

 

“It’s good.” Sam’s breath hitched in his throat. “First time, I didn’t think it’d be this good.”

 

“It’s going to get better,” he promised, thrusting harder. He was good at this— _better than at the other_ —and Sam shuddered and moved with him.

 

“Stop, stop,” Sam gasped when they were both on the brink. He froze with every cell in his body screaming to keep going. _You had to keep going when they cried for you to stop, because it was either them or you_.

 

“I want you to make it last,” Sam said, his eyes bright and dilated. “Want you to make me....”

 

“Make you what, Sam?” He searched his brother’s face for whatever he couldn’t ask for out loud. “Make you beg?” he asked, knowing that wasn’t everything Sam was thinking, but it was the only part he could read.

 

“Can you?” The red spots high on Sam’s cheekbones flushed scarlet. “For real, I mean?”

 

“Hell, yes.” He ignored Sam’s little whimper of disappointment as he pulled out. “Want me to make you scream, Sammy? Because I will. There’s no one here to hear.” 

 

‘ _Don’t scream,_ ’ he’d first begged, then ordered them. ‘ _There’s no one here to care._ ’ 

 

Sam stretched his arms wide— _because it felt good, not because of the rack_ —and arched his neck in invitation. “Do it.”

 

He was good at this— _better than at the other_ —and Sam made it so easy— _he didn’t fight, they always fought at first_ —giving in to his hands— _he never touched them with his hands, only the knife_ —and the quick, teasing brushes of lips on skin. A flood of words poured from Sam’s mouth, all the words he’d heard before—‘ _Oh God,’_ and _‘please’_ —but other ones mixed in too— _‘Yeah, don’t stop, so good,’_ and Sam was almost hyperventilating by the time he started licking at the soft skin over hard muscle of his abdomen. 

 

“You asked for this,” he groaned as Sam writhed on his fingers. “Tell me if you need me to stop.” 

 

‘ _You deserve this_ ,’ he would tell them early on, back when his hands shook too much to twist the knife. Like that would make it okay, like that would make them forgive him. ‘ _That’s why I can’t stop_.’

 

“God, no. I want—,” Sam wheezed, losing the words as he hit just the right spot. _There was always a right spot, you just had to find it._

 

“Anything, Sammy. Just tell me,” he taunted as he drove Sam’s breath away again. _They never knew that taunting was a kindness because it broke them with less of the knife._ “I can’t unless you tell me.”

 

“Your—ah, your….” 

 

“My what, Sam?” Another crook of his finger and Sam cursed, thrashing and kicking _because there was no rope here, no rack._

 

“Your mouth. Give me your mouth,” Sam finally got out. “And you gotta let me talk.”

 

“Sure,” he agreed, letting Sam feel his breath with each word. “But trust me, Sam, once I get my mouth on you, you won’t know what you’re saying anyway.”

 

Sam cried out, his back bowing so tight that he clamped his fingers around the base of his cock to keep him from coming too soon. Then he set to work, focusing on driving Sam out of his mind tonight because he was afraid to ask if this was the only time.

 

_You always try to break a soul in one session so you won’t have to see someone who knows you’re a monster in the morning._

 

Mouth and fingers moved together in the right rhythm, the rhythm he could draw out for hours.

 

_But you’ve got to make one last all day, because if you finish too quick they bring you another._

 

“Talk, Sammy. You wanted to talk, so talk,” he urged without breaking the pace.

 

_Dean Winchester, working a nine-to-five in Hell._

 

“Fuck, yeah…,” Sam moaned.

 

_Dependable, reliable, practically employee of the month._

 

“Don’t stop….”

 

_Because sometimes the employee of the month gets a day off._

 

“Do that again….”

 

_If you don’t cut corners..._

 

“I need….”

 

_or cheat the boss..._

 

“Oh, God….”

 

_or clock out before the end of your shift._

 

“Please—ah, _please_ , Dean.”

 

_Yeah, he’d been damned good at the other._

 

“Let me come, I gotta come, c’mon, Dean, fuck me, make me come….”

 

_But he was fucking_ gifted _at this._

 

He finally let himself feel the pleasure as he drove into Sam and started moving. There was still something besides heat in his brother’s eyes, but he couldn’t concentrate on anything but the clench of Sam’s body, the noises and words tumbling from his lips...

 

“Now, yeah, do it, so close, Dean, so good, want you to fuck me harder, I need it,” he babbled, and as he hit the edge, “Dean, I lo—.”

 

He clapped a hand over Sam’s mouth to stop the words he didn’t deserve or want to hear. Victory flashed across Sam’s face as he came, triumph and trust and forgiveness that he’d never seen, would never see in anyone else’s eyes. He shuddered through his own orgasm, groans tearing unrestrained from his throat, and the screaming pit inside him got just a little smaller.

 

_End note_

I hope you enjoyed the story, and all my fic, including gen material, may be found [here](http://blueiris08.livejournal.com/28064.html)


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